A Word of Advice

If I take the time to text you on my cell phone…

And by that, I mean that  I thought of you during the course of my day, thought of a very specific message that I wanted to relay to you, went over to my cellular device, picked it up and then carefully picked each letter to properly write it out, then hit the send button and anxiously awaited your response…

… you better fucking text me back.

And I am dead serious. I joke around a lot with things that bother me, but this is beyond a simple pet peeve of mine.

This is what I think when somebody doesn’t respond to a text message that I sent them. They hear the ring, the buzz, or whatever the fuck their phone does when they receive a text message, they see who it’s from, they probably think in their head “what the hell does this kid want??” and then they read the message, and think in their head again: “Not important enough to respond.”

Fuck. You.

And don’t tell me not to take it personally, because it’s the most personal thing in the world me. You don’t treat people like they don’t exist, that is not the decent thing to do.

It’s just not how you treat other people. It’s a shitty habit. OK, so maybe you’re in a bad mood… but does that suddenly give you the right to treat people as if they’re nothing.

Acknowledgement. It goes a long way. I know it sounds mundane, but it means something to me. And I’m sure most – if not all – of you feel the same way. Being ignored is not fucking fun.

Some people just live in their own goddamn little world, and think that they could just blow other people off whenever the hell they want and that’s it not a big deal. That they’re even good at it. Well, I’ll tell you something, one day that mentality is gonna come back to haunt you in a big way.

And when that happens, when you’re the one craving sympathy from others… suddenly you’ll be the one that’s not being acknowledged. And guess what? You brought it on yourself.

Shit… writing this blog drives me to the bottle.

Hey… Everybody’s Graduating!!!

How do I know this?

Because I can’t go ten minutes without somebody updating their newsfeed to say something along the lines of “OmG… last class ever!!!” or “I can’t believe I’m graduating!” or “one more test and then I’m done!!!”

My response:

Yes, it’s mid-May, and this is when school ends. It’s been that way… forever. People graduate. It is not uncommon.

If you’re 12 years old and you’re graduating college right now; then you’ve accomplished something. You have every right to brag about it in everyone’s face. Because that would be special.

But you know, if you’re 22 and a graduating undergrad… or 24/25 and graduating from grad-school, then… it’s not really impressive at all. In fact, if you weren’t graduating around this time, then you’re just a dumbass.

Or if you’re graduating from med-school or getting your PHD after like ten years of schooling, then ok, I can accept that also. But just getting your bachelors degree or your masters… yeah no one really cares. If your facebook friends with your mom, I’m sure she’d care. But she’s really the only one.

I saw a facebook status today that simply said “out.” When the hell did facebook statuses replace the away message?!

So yeah, if I see another person announce on facebo0ok that they are graduating… I’m gonna lose my shit.

God dammit, I need a nightcap. Where’s my whiskey at?

A Trip to our State’s Capital

After spending four years living a mere hour away from Albany, I somehow never found the time to make the trip there during my years at Binghamton.

However, this Saturday, I finally took the plunge and went up there with my buddy Dan (bro montana) to visit our friend Gregg and his girlfriend Lauren (shout outs!) Although it was the end of the year and most collegians have gone home, including some of their own friends, it was still a great time nonetheless. Albany is a very nice town; and much nicer than Binghamton (although that’s not saying much.)

Started out with a trip to Fuddruckers – a place I haven’t been to since I was about ten – and it was certainly delicious. After that the heavy drinking commenced which consisted of consuming alcohol while watching The Heartbreak Kid (very underrated movie) and then winning three out of four games of beerpong.

Then some Albany bars… first to a place called Abbot’s tavern (Abbs tavs) which was almost completely empty. It’s a place that – when school is ensuing – gets crowded to the point that you can’t move, so everybody found the emptiness amusing. I really didn’t mind… I love going to bars and taking them over. And 4 shots and 4 beers for 12 bucks? Sign me up.

The next bar we went to was a lot bigger and more packed, so it was quite the reversal. I really don’t remember many specific details of anything that occurred while at that bar, because I had many drinks in me at that point. But I absolutely remember having a good time.

Now, as you all know, drinking alcohol makes me very, very hungry. I absolutely devour food when I am wasted, and Saturday was no different. In the past, I had always heard all my Albany friends talk about a place called “D.P Dough.” I knew that I must have it at the end of the night, even though Gregg and Lauren told me that there was better options across the street. But I had my mind set on D.P. Dough.

What they make there is calzones. And honestly, I’m fairly certain that I’ve never even had a calzone in my life. But I think I may have found my absolute favorite drunk-meal of all time. It was absolutely fucking delicious. I had a buffalo chicken and mozzarella calzone. I have no idea how good that place would be if I was sober, but I don’t care. And I’ll probably never find out.

And that was pretty much the night. Good times with good people. It’s my new motto.

Solid weekend considering Friday was fun too. I was at a house party, and not even kidding, there was about 20 different girls there, and every single one of them was attractive. It was extraordinary. Of course my friends and I pussied out and barely talked to them, but once I had several beers in me and Jason Derulo started pumping from the speakers, I found my courage and did my thing. Normally I don’t remember what I talk about with girls, but this time I remember talking about Taylor Swift.

Ah, what a stimulating life I live. I’m sure all of you were checking my blog every minute today looking for my normal Sunday-night “weekend recap” so that you could hear about my misadventures. Now it’s time for the rest of my Sunday night routine of watching a movie. I’ve been really into old movies lately… nothing after 1960. Black and white is the way to go.

And wow, I literally just realized this second that Microsoft word shows the word count of your entries at the bottom left of the screen. For my articles I’m limited to about 600 words, and I always checked the word count by clicking the “review” tab at the top of the screen. I totally could have saved 2 seconds a  day by knowing  this information sooner. GOD DAMMIT.

Seacrest, OUT

I Am The Fucking Man

I’m not one to be a narcissist, but I am fucking awesome.

I have no shame admitting it. I try to be humble, but it’s just hard when you exude so much excellence.

But seriously, I’m good looking enough, I’m funny (obviously), I have a wonderful personality, and I’m just an extremely good-hearted, likeable individual. What the fuck more can you want?

And what’s the big deal about narcissism, anyway? If self-deprecation is so popular, why can’t people be the opposite? “Wahhh my life sucks, wahhh… FML!!! I have the worst luck ever… only bad things happen to me!!!” Shut the fuck up!

Plus I can be a dick if I need to be. I’m not exactly the poster-child when it comes to being very muscular, but I will always stand up for myself – and any of my friends – whenever I need to. Because there’s no reason that I, or any of you, should have to take shit from any one. Remember that.

I am just the ideal human. Alright, maybe not. But how can you not say that isn’t a healthy outlook? Think highly of yourself, people.

I think the reason why I don’t have as much success with ladies as I could have is because I’m the one that rejects them. It’s not that I keep getting rejected, I just don’t try enough because I’m really picky. Because I am a motherfucking catch.

Just take it for what it is, and consider yourself lucky that you were able to befriend me at some point in your life.

What’s the key to it, you ask? Be polite. Be friendly. Just be yourself. Stay in shape. Smile. Be confident in yourself. Don’t ever assume that any one is better than you. And most importantly of all, treat your friends well. Because without your friends, you have nothing.


Never fun.

The thing about alcohol; always fun the night of, the day after… not so much.

Everybody has their own remedies for a hangover. As for me, I just tough it out like a man. I savor it. Because I know I earned it. Actually, the only thing I do is try to down some type of liquid before I go to bed to rehydrate myself.

After a good night of drinking, I always wake up in the middle of the night with a ridiculously dry mouth. So what I do is conveniently place a Gatorade within reaching distance of my bed. I don’t think there is a better taste in the world than downing a Gatorade when you are incredibly parched. Except maybe butterbeer.

Seriously, butterbeer. How the fuck has anyone not tried to actually invent that. For those losers that have no idea what I am talking about, butterbeer is a drink from Harry Potter. They sell it at the Three Broomsticks, and it is a warm beverage that tastes a little bit like butterscotch. It pretty much sounds like the most delicious thing ever. Supposedly the Wizarding World of Harry Potter Theme Park that opens in July will be selling it. Road trip, anyone?

Anyway, hangovers. Also known as… every Sunday. But in this case, Wednesday. I remember one time in college I had to give a presentation while hung over. I had written down everything that I needed to say on paper, so I figured I was alright to drink the night before. But the severity of the hangover was not planned. I was legitimately still drunk when I was giving my presentation ,and it was pretty easy to tell. I had to stop my presentation twice to go and grab a drink of water. Not ideal.

When you drink a lot, you kind of get used to hangovers. But every now and then one will still come around and rock your world. That’s what $3.00 24 ounce cans of Labatt Blues will do to ya.

I have to work in three hours so hopefully it will be gone by then. Hopefully.

My Life is Interesting.

Here I am, sitting on my bed harmlessly doing some work, when something catches my eye. Suddenly, a flying bug is drifting straight towards me! In my panic, I reach for my notepad that I am currently using and with all the strength I could muster I swat the motherfucker with all my might.

I don’t know how bugs do this, but whenever you swat at them, they fuckin vanish. You always think you got them, but you never do.

I look to see if I did kill it, but I knew that I didn’t. Next thing I know I’m standing in my doorway, and the fucker is flying a foot away from me around my lamp. I run into the bathroom to get some tissues, and when I get back… it’s gone.

This was two hours ago.

It’s lurking. It’s somewhere. It can see me, but I can’t see it. All I know is that the bloodsucking sonofabitch is gonna come back out when I’m sleeping in and give me West Nile Virus.

Mosquitoes contribute NOTHING to our ecosystem. I have no shame in killing them, and I fully intend to if it has the nerve to show its face around here again.

So anyway, I was working at a baseball game today, when my editor calls me to rush over to a car accident that supposedly just occurred and try to take photos and find out exactly what happened. Apparently a car had crashed into a building or something.

I’ve never done anything like this before. I’m not an investigative journalist, I’m simply a sports reporter/ creepy guy that hits on high school girls. But, I agreed because he said he’s give me 25 extra bucks.

I get there, and I see no major accident. I see a couple cars totaled, but nothing into a building. I asked to black kids (around 24-25 years old) that were standing around if they know what happened.

One of them responded “Yea of course we know what happened… we almost died!”

They were the ones whose car was hit. They were nice enough to give me the general details and enough information that I could write the article about it. They were on their way to Applebees at the time. So much for eating good in the neighborhood!

I recorded the details, took my snapshots, and then headed back to catch the rest of the baseball game.

Pretty exciting day in the life of Weingrad!

The Anatomy of Talking to Girls


I’ve discussed a myriad amount of topics on this blog. A prevailing one – that people seem to find popular – is all my rants, musings and trials and tribulations with the opposite gender.


It’s just that’s it is really easy to talk about, because, well, there’s just so much to say. And let’s face it, as a male… women are constantly on the mind. It’s like the old saying goes; women… can’t live with them, can’t live without them.

Sure, you can temporarily get them off your mind with a brief stop at some carefully chosen websites that you know the name of better than you know your own social security number, PIN number or last girlfriend’s middle name. But like I said, that is only temporary.

If I have a girlfriend anytime soon I think the thing about single life that I will miss most is the ability to complain about girls on a daily basis. Not that I would no longer have plenty of material to complain about, but it’d probably be wise to keep my mouth shut, and thus, my blog would become exponentially more boring.

However, right now I am single, and I can say whatever the fuck I want.

Another weekend, and another plethora of unsuccessful attempts at getting women to join me inside of my bedroom. It’s funny because on the surface I actually appear like I am quite the ladies man. My friends joke with me that I always end up talking to random girls “for hours,” which is obviously an exaggeration, but has some merit.

Especially when I have some alcohol in me, I tend to be a pretty social person. At least when I’m not in a goddamn bar where the music is so loud that I can’t even hear myself think. When I’m part of a group of people, and attractive girls are involved (whether I know them or not), I waste no time engaging them in conversation. You gotta introduce yourself right away, otherwise it’s never gonna happen. Then you just gotta find that one connection, regardless of how small it is. Once you find it, you’re in.

Honestly, I have no idea what the fuck I talk about with girls when this happens. My friends always ask me, and I never have an answer. I honestly don’t even think I truly listen whenever I converse with girls. I just make sure to maintain solid eye contact, smile, and agree with whatever she says. That’s all they’re truly looking for anyway.

But, that’s what happens, and I’d say that 95% of the time it amounts to nothing. The thing is, I’m too goddamn nice. I hate to admit it, because being nice is not a good quality, but I am. I have too much of a conscience to not take advantage of girls. If I get super drunk than my morals begin to lessen, but when I think I may be on to something than I don’t try to get too wasted. It’s a vicious cycle.

If anything, I at least lay a very solid foundation for if I ever were to cross paths with the girl ever again. But, for the most part, that doesn’t often occur.

I think it’s just because I  assume that girls don’t want to sleep with me. So I give it a shot, and then when I realize that things are actually going well, I panic. “What the hell do I do now?” Sometimes you just gotta sack up and realize that this is obviously a one-time thing and maybe the two of you are on the same page. Hopefully I will grow a pair soon and improve in that regard.

But at least I do have the courage to talk to girls; that’s never been my problem. I have confidence in myself that I have a pretty decent personality and you just gotta let that show when you talk to girls. The real key, and it’s cliché, is to just be yourself. Be natural. If you try to “play it cool” then you’ll just come off looking like a douche. Trust me, I’ve been there. Many times.

So, I suppose the key is persistence. Don’t let yourself ever get too discouraged, and keep on trucking. Hey, even a broken clock is right twice a day, am I right people? Am I right??

By the way, on Friday a friend of mine came up to me and smacked her beer bottle on to mine to make everything foam out, and somehow the result of it ended up being me buying her a shot. How does that happen??? Damn you females. Damn you.